A History of Monsters 189

nay, because he understood from the seer that the arrival of Bacchus and his sacrifices would lead to his own ruin, he commanded his people not to obey Bacchus’s commands, but rather to lead him tightly bound into prison. Bacchus, however, in order to deceive him, transformed himself into Acoetes, a companion of Liber, as the Poet sings:

"And when the master asked where Bacchus was, they denied having seen him. They said, 'We have captured this man, a companion and servant of the sacred rites,' and they handed him over with his hands tied behind his back."

Such was the power of Bacchus that when he was captured by Tyrrhenian sailors—who, struck by his extraordinary beauty, had placed him on their ship—he was moved by great wrath and transformed the rigging into wild beasts and snakes. The Tyrrhenians, seized by terror, cast themselves headlong into the sea and swam away, transformed into dolphins, as is sung in these verses:

"He saw his hands shrink into a short space, and saw that they were no longer hands, but could now be called fins. Another, wishing to reach his arms toward the twisted ropes, found he had no arms; gliding back into the waves with a limbless trunk, he leaped away, his tail ending in a hook, like the horns of a half-moon."

Pentheus at last, just as predicted, having shown contempt for Bacchus, hurried to Mount Cithaeron where the sacrifices of Bacchus were being celebrated; there, he was suddenly perceived as a boar and torn to pieces.

"That great boar wandering in our fields, that is the boar I must strike," and the whole raging crowd rushed as one against him.

In the fourth book, the Poet expresses clearly and lucidly how, besides Pentheus, Alcithoe, the daughter of Minyas, not only made light of Bacchus but even spent the time of the sacrifices working at wool with her sisters. While these women were intent on their work, they decided to take turns telling stories, so that the narration might in some part lighten their labor. Thus, one of them stood up and wondered whether she should first mention the Babylonian woman who had been changed into a fish; or her daughter Semiramis, who had been transformed into a dove; or the Naiad nymph who, with songs and powerful herbs, turned certain young boys into fish and at last assumed the form of a fish herself. Or should she bring to the floor the reason why the fruit of the mulberry tree, once white, became black over time—an event they say happened from the blood of Pyramus and Thisbe. This story, not having been heard widely, they chose to tell; of the aforementioned things, the Poet speaks thus:

"Let her tell of you, Babylonian Dercetis, whom the Palestinians believe inhabits the pools in a changed form, with scales covering her limbs. Or rather, how her daughter took up wings and spent her final years in high mountains. Or how a Naiad, with song and too-powerful herbs, changed the bodies of youths into silent fish, until she suffered the same fate; or how the tree that once bore white fruit now bears black from the touch of blood. This story pleases, since it is not a common tale. In such a way she began, her wool following her threads: 'Pyramus and Thisbe, one the handsomest of youths, the other preferred above all the girls the East possessed.'"

After this story was finished, Leucothoe, the sister of Alcithoe, prepared herself to tell another. But before she explained how the daughter of Orchamus, King of Achaemenia, and Eurynome was turned into an incense tree, she described the adultery of Mars and Venus. For when the Sun pointed out to Vulcan that Mars was consorting with Venus, Vulcan, having fashioned a net with great skill, bound Mars and Venus together and brought them before the sight of all the gods. For this reason, Venus, being indignant, saw to it that the Sun was inflamed with love for Leucothoe; he, afterwards, so that he might more easily possess her, transformed himself